


A Study in Time

by under_a_grey_cloud



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, No Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-11-29 04:21:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18218138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/under_a_grey_cloud/pseuds/under_a_grey_cloud
Summary: This story is based on the characters in the television show "Sherlock."Moriarty brings Sherlock a case involving a missing antique gold watch. Of course, he solves it.





	A Study in Time

 

**Chapter One**

 

“Would you please take your feet off my ottoman?” Sherlock grumbled, wiping his feet on the doormat as he ascended the stairs.

 

“Must I ask?” a high-pitched sarcastic voice drifted downstairs.

 

“Obviously not, since you’ve given yourself away in three words.”

 

“That’s not what I meant” replied a petulant voice.

 

“Surely you can figure it out yourself, being the only consulting criminal in the United Kingdom” Sherlock muttered.

 

“Oh please. In the world, I should think.”

 

Sherlock sighed. “It must be you, because Lestrade is a much larger man and would have left larger footprints. You and Watson share the same miniscule shoe size, Watson is on holiday, and you know how ornery Mrs. Hudson is about stains.

 

“Furthermore, the shoe prints stop at my door, thus making it very unlikely she has a visitor. She never has visitors, and she would hardly be so crude as to request stranger to remove his shoes after passing my door.

 

“I can hear the rain just beginning to patter on the windowpane. It wasn’t raining earlier today, thus I couldn’t have left the muddy footprints myself. And before you ask, the seventh step only creaks when it’s wet. I’m not in the mood for a argument with Mrs. Hudson so please remove your shoes before they make an indelible stain on her ottoman. Shall I continue or have I satisfied your curiosity?”

 

“I’m quite certain you shall never fail to satisfy my curiosity.”

 

“Wipe that smirk off your face when you wipe the ottoman. And before you ask, you speak very differently with the corners of your mouth turned up.” Sherlock kicked off his own shoes and habitually sat down in his armchair. He made an “oomph” sound as he sat.

 

“My we’re being friendly, aren’t we” Moriarty responded as Sherlock sat in his lap. “Not that I mind, but-“

 

“Get your body out of my chair and your feet off the ottoman right now or I’ll have you scrub the entire flat,” Sherlock spat as he got up.

 

“Ooh, can I wear a little black lace uniform?”

 

“You’ll be too sore to wear anything if you don’t move before I literally kick you out.”

 

“Sounds delightful,” Moriarty responded with a grin as he re-crossed his feet on the ottoman, then got up and wiped his feet on the carpet. He took a seat in the other armchair.

 

“That’s John’s chair!”

 

“For all eternity? Dr. Watson hasn’t lived here for over a year. I’d say the occupant of that chair is Sir Vacant by now. Sir Vacant. Not a very nice name. Shall we say it’s either Sir Occupied or Sir Not Occupied?” Sherlock heard Moriarty smirk from behind his back.

 

“Surely you didn’t come here to discuss the nomenclature of my furniture.”

 

“Oh, it would take far less motivation than that for me to visit you,” Moriarty replied.

 

Sherlock tossed his hat over his shoulder onto Moriarty’s lap.

 

“I’m so glad you returned,” Moriarty continued, tossing the hat on the floor. “I’ve been reading the paper and there’s nothing left but the obituaries. ‘Mrs. Ophelia Black sadly passed away this morning at the tragic age of forty-five. She apparently slipped whilst performing her morning ablutions and cracked her head on the porcelain.’ “

 

“Even Mrs. Hudson wouldn’t believe you,” Sherlock scoffed.

 

“But darling, it’s in the newspaper so it must be true. Come sit on my lap again and I’ll show you.”

 

Sherlock grunted, peeling off his old nicotine patch and replacing it with a new one. He tossed the old one on the floor.

 

“I’m only a single-patch visitor today? I must remember to jump in a puddle the next time I visit.”

 

“Stop being inane. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

 

“Seeing me isn’t pleasure enough?”

 

“Shut up and tell me why you’re here. God I want a cigarette.”

 

Jim tossed a cigarette and a lighter at Sherlock, who caught them one-handed with surprising grace. “You don’t even smoke. You prefer the disgusting habit of chewimg your nicotine. What are you doing with a lighter and a package of cigarettes?”

 

“They’re for you.”

 

“Toss it,” Sherlock replied, looking greedily at the package.

 

“You’ve got to earn it first.”

 

Sherlock closed his eyes in bliss as he took a long drag.

 

“And what have I done to deserve this one?”

 

“First one’s free. That’s how they hook you. As you very well know.”

 

“Seriously, Jim. I have an afternoon of thinking to do.”

 

“I’m here because I thought you were getting a bit big for your britches lately.” Moriarty stared pointedly at Sherlock’s lap.

 

Sherlock tried to scoff again but ended up snorting with suppressed laughter.

 

“Why are you here?”

 

“I have a case for you, of course. Interested?” Moriarty raised an eyebrow.

 

“Solved. It was you.”

 

Moriarty chuckled and stared at Sherlock. “I leave the small cases for my inferiors.”

 

“So what is this big case?”

 

“Did I say it was big?” Moriarty stared at Sherlock’s lap again. “I think average is a more apt description.”

 

“Stop it! I have four inches on you, which I will not hesitate to make use of to throw you out of my flat.”

 

“Surely not four inches, and I’m sure you can make better use of them.”

 

“Ten, nine, eight,”

 

“Again, must we?”

 

“Six, five, four,” Sherlock continued.

 

“Pray tell what happened to seven. I assume you can count down from eight to seven.”

 

“You wasted it interrupting me. Three, two-“

 

“I’ll play, I’ll play. I caught sight of a man hovering outside your door on my way in.”

 

“Umbrella?”

 

“Yes, but closed.”

 

“Awning?”

 

“Yes. As if it were pouring."

 

“Drat. Mycroft. He always thinks he has a big case on his mind. I don’t think I could bear to look at his fat face right now.”

 

“It’s not fat, Sherlock. It's been years since Mycroft has had a fat face.”

 

“It’s always fat to me,” Sherlock replied. “Suits his fat head rather nicely, I think.”

 

“Even I can hear him shuffling his feet on the mat,” Moriarty said. “I think a quick getaway is in order?”

 

Sherlock was already tying his shoes and reaching for his coat. “Back stairs, I should think.”

 

“I don’t think you should. You do far more thinking than is good for you. But I agree.” Moriarty put his feet back on the ottoman as he buttoned his coat. They left Mycroft alone in the flat with seconds to spare.

 

“You’ve left your door open again, little brother. How many times do I need to tell you not to do that? And you’ve tracked mud onto Mrs. Hudson’s floor,” he continued as he sat down on the wet ottoman. He stopped when he noticed he was talking to himself. “Damn you, Sherlock.”

 

The two consultants shut the back door behind them and smiled.

 

**Chapter Two**

 

“So what is this “average” case and why are you bothering me with it?” Sherlock asked as he unsuccessfully tried to push his wet hair out of his face while looking for a waiter. The primary and only reason he patronized the cafe was that it was next door to his flat. “God the service here is slow. Why do I even bother? I need caffeine. Now.”

 

Moriarty took a cigarette from his pack and handed it to Sherlock.

 

“Why do you always do that?”

 

“Hand you a cigarette? I believe this is the first time I’ve done so. I’d have thrown it at you but this table is quite small. I’m afraid it might have rolled onto the floor and even you, Sherlock, wouldn’t smoke a wet, muddy cigarette.”

 

“No,” Sherlock said in exasperation. “Touch me. Why do you always touch me when it isn’t necessary?”

 

“Because it’s fun, and it annoys you. Fair trade for a cigarette, I think.”

 

“I don’t want a cigarette,” Sherlock began.

 

“Really? Pardon my manners.” Moriarty reached for the cigarette just as Sherlock lit it.

 

“Ow!" cried Moriarty. "What possessed you to do that? I’ve burned my finger.”

 

“So sorry,” saiid Sherlock.

A waiter appeared at their table carrying two cups of coffee. He set them both in front of Sherlock. Moriarty reached for one and spilled some on his hand. He and Sherlock exchanged a look. Neither of them mentioned Moriarty’s burned hand.

 

“Coffee or tea, sir?” the waiter asked Moriarty.

 

“Both, I think. You can pour the tea directly onto my dear companion’s head.”

 

The waiter re-appeared with a cup of coffee for Moriarty. They drank their caffeine in serious silence.

 

“All right, then,” Sherlock said when he’d finished his first coffee. “Tell me about your average case.”

 

“An antique gold watch has gone missing.”

 

“And you know this how?”

 

“Your brother was checking his wrist and murmuring about a watch when I passed him.”

 

“Mycroft doesn’t own a gold watch,” Sherlock replied, clearly annoyed.

 

“I know. He prefers platinum. And you’re slipping, my dear Sherlock. I don’t recall mentioning that it was Mycroft’s watch that has disappeared.”

 

“It was a reasonable deduction.”

 

“Reasonable? For a two-year-old, perhaps. Deduction? Hardly. You do seem slow today, Sherlock. Perhaps some nicotine would help?” Moriarty handed over the slightly used cigarette.

 

“Tacky. I’d prefer a new one.”

 

“Be my guest. Although remember I only have the one package.”

 

“And what did I do to earn this one?” Sherlock asked, brushing off the used cigarette.

 

“Bought me coffee.”

 

“The case, Jim. Focus. If my idiot brother didn’t lose his watch, who did?”

 

“You tell me. Isn’t solving cases your specialty?”

 

Sherlock began stacking sugar cubes on the table.

 

“Is that a new entrance to your mind palace?”

 

“Jim. I’m stacking sugar cubes. What makes you think an antique gold watch has been stolen?”

 

“I’m learning.” Moriarty smiled. “Mycroft looked at his empty wrist and muttered to himself. What more do you need?”

 

“Which wrist?”

 

“Mycroft’s,” Moriarty answered with a delighted grin.

 

“No room.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“There’s no room in my mind palace for this ridiculous trivia. I’m bored to the point of falling asleep. Please be more interesting or leave.” Sherlock made a move for the package of cigarettes.

 

“Not on your life.” Moriarty snatched the pack and put it in his jacket pocket. “Although I’d be more inclined to give it to you now if you removed it yourself.”

 

“Why do I put up with you?” Sherlock muttered to himself.

 

“Because I’m the only human as smart as you. Also because I’m so cute. Also because I haven’t told you about the case yet.”

 

“No, God no, and maybe.”

 

“Mycroft was staring at his right wrist. He wears his watch on his left.”

 

“Yes. He’s my brother. One tends to notice such things about one’s brother. Either explain yourself further or leave.”

 

“But that’s your purview. Explaining the case. Of course anyone could leave. Did you even look at the newspaper I was reading?”

 

“Of course. When you dropped it on the floor, the wind from the door ruffled the pages, thus exposing every headline in the paper.”

 

“Ah, but what if it didn’t have a headline?”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous. All news stories have headlines.”

 

“Not obituaries,” Moriarty answered with an evil smile.

 

“Damn you. I should make a habit of reading obituaries. What did you find?”

 

Moriarty sighed. “You must be getting old, my dear, or your mind palace needs a good sweeping. I read you the obituary. You tell me.”

 

Sherlock tented his hands on the table. “What does one do when one buys a very valuable watch? Generally give it to a loved one, and engrave it for the recipient. I suspect _most_ people, he stared at Moriarty, buy such items as a gift. When does one remove a valuable watch? When preparing to bathe, of course. If one really can’t bear to be parted from the watch, one might even set it on the side of the tub. Why would Mrs. Black slip in the same tub she’s doubtless used many times before? Because her foot encountered something unexpected. In this case, an antique gold watch. Why was there no mention of the watch in the obituary? Because no one saw it. Obviously it must have fallen down the drain, blocking it. As the tub began to fill with undrained water, the bottom became more slippery. Thus Mrs. Black lost her watch somewhere in the drain where any plumber could find it. If they knew where to look. Or why.

 

“This case is self-solving. The owner of the building will doubtless clean the flat before renting it out to a new tenant. This includes cleaning the tub. The plugged drain will become evident as soon as the faucet is turned on. After failing to find the watch with a finger, it’s logical to try a hand. An average woman’s hand is 8 centimeters across. A man’s hand is 11 centimeters. Neither of which are nearly small enough to reach down a tub drain, but people never surprise me in attempting tasks that obviously won’t work.

 

“No one will rent out a flat with a clogged tub. Thus the plumber, who would doubtless possess the necessary tools for fishing items out of drains. But all this is immaterial. Unless this precious antique watch is waterproof, which is highly unlikely. If it is indeed an antique, the mechanism and thus the watch would most likely be ruined. What’s the point in rescuing a watch that doesn’t work?

 

“But what if it does work?' Sherlock continued. 'What if the clogged tub had nothing to do with the watch at all? Then it’s either stuck behind the bedside table, or fallen in an equally unused place which the housekeeper missed. It couldn’t be on the table on the other side of the bed, since Mr. Black’s obituary listed no grieving husband. She obviously lived alone and had no need for a second bedside table. Thus it most likely survived the fall down the drain.”

 

“Really, Jim, even you know this case is beneath me. I’ve solved it while sitting in my local cafe drinking coffee and smoking a cigarette. Which reminds me. I’ve earned another cigarette by solving your paltry case. Hand it over.”

 

“Maybe. I’m not sure if “solving” a case without finding the missing item deserves a cigarette. But I’m feeling generous.” Moriarty removed the pack from his pocket and handed over another cigarette, making sure to touch as much of Sherlock’s hand as possible.

 

“So you want me to purchase a drain snake and immerse my hand in a partially full bathtub, previously occupied by a deceased woman, in order to find a broken watch? I think not. Who needs a watch anyhow?”

 

“What time is it?” Moriarty asked.

 

“1:45 minutes and 17 seconds.”

 

Moriarty checked his watch. “How do you do that?” he asked with unabashed incredulity.

 

“How do you not? I merely recall everything I’ve done during the day, how long it takes, and it’s a simple matter of addition. I don’t know why anyone bothers with a watch in the first place. But tell me. How do we know the watch is antique gold? Simple. If it were inexpensive, the plumber probably would have kept it. But depending on the watch’s value, that would be theft. Most people feel uncomfortable about stealing,” Sherlock continued, glaring into Moriarty’s eyes. “So it’s likely the plumber turned the watch over to the police. They, of course, would have no idea where the watch came from. If it were broken, it would hardly be a priority. If it were still in working order, they would probably hand it over to Lestrade, who of course would bring it to me. After determining I was not at home, he would most likely check places he knows I frequent, such as this cafe.

 

“And there you are” he said to Lestrade. “We’ve been waiting for you. I think you’ll find the next of kin by researching Mrs. Ophelia Black, who died in the tub today and most likely dropped her watch down the drain. Don't worry; it's still working. Cigarette?”

 

“Thank you,” Lestrade replied, "for finding Mrs. Ophelia's  watch." He did not even bother to ask how and why Sherlock knew about the watch. He reached for the cigarette and discovered none was forthcoming.

 

“Don’t look at me. I’ve stopped smoking. I don’t carry cigarettes. I asked if you had a cigarette for me.”

 

Lestrade scoffed, pulled a package of cigarettes out of his pocket, and gave one to Sherlock. He looked at Moriarty and said “I’d think a master criminal such as yourself could manage to keep him off cigarettes for a day.”

 

Moriarty smiled. “I’m not a master criminal. I’m a master _consulting_ criminal. As for the cigarettes, I gave them to him. Sherlock can be so troublesome when he’s nicotine deprived.

 

Lestrade signed and left the cafe.

 

“Speaking of cigarettes,” Moriarty continued, looking at Sherlock, “I think you’ve earned another for tolerating this bullish inspector. Look, it’s stopped raining. Do you fancy a swim? I have a new bathing suit that’s absolutely to die for.”


End file.
